


Ship to Wreck

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adult Cole, Alive Cole, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Crush, Bullying, Cunnilingus, DBH is Connor’s Self-Insert Fan Fiction, IT Guy Connor, M/M, Masturbation, Nerdy Connor, Oral Sex, Squirting, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Connor, Vaginal Fingering, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 20:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: AU: Connor is a system admin for the Detroit Police Department. He also happens to have a huge crush on the lieutenant at his precinct. He copes by writing.





	Ship to Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, this idea is dumb. The characters are very OOC. This is not meant to be taken super seriously. Yes, I do plan on writing a sequel.

The aroma of hazelnut and vanilla, deliciously wafting from his “ID10T Error” mug, did little to breathe life back into Connor’s weary bones. Regardless, with a sense of hopeless desperation, he sipped at his coffee, as if it were a magical elixir with the ability to somehow replace the sleep he lost by writing until two in the morning.

 

 _Oh God_ , Connor groaned internally. He leaned back against his desk chair, eyes closed, face covered by his unoccupied hand. Curse his unwavering imagination!

 

Connor thought by twenty-eight he would have given up the childish vices that consistently roped him into trouble. Yes, he limited his gaming to human hours, only binged the occasional crime procedural drama marathon, and knew when to sign off his social media accounts. Yet, Connor never learned how to keep his daydreams from spilling out onto paper - er, screen.

 

Connor bent forward to place his cup back onto his desk, beside his Luke Skywalker plush and Peter Quill figurine. Unable to physically do much else until the caffeine finally kicked in, Connor spent several minutes procrastinating on his tasks by scrolling through the small number of unread emails in his inbox. Boring. Boring. Bor -

 

“Hey.”

 

Connor’s chair squeaked in protest against his sudden jumping. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed, he made a quarter-turn and glanced up at the source of the sudden greeting.

 

Connor steeled his expression to stay as neutral as possible, despite his heart running at a gallop and his stomach dropping to his toes. Lieutenant Hank Anderson loomed over him, in all his tall, broad, masculine glory. As always, he was beautifully groomed and impeccably dressed, so unlike the Hank Anderson in the series of stories he spent all night writing.

 

The younger man bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too broadly before asking, voice small, “How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

 

“Do I need an excuse to visit my second favorite nerd?” Hank asked with a small chuckle. He bent forward to place his palms on the edge of Connor’s desk. His whiskered face was so close, Connor could smell the heady scent of his cologne.

 

Connor fantasized about closing the small gap between them, capturing his full lips in a molten kiss. The imaginary movie reel in his head continued, despite himself, morphing from a romantic scene into a full-blown porno. Connor would be seated upon his desk, naked legs spread around Hank’s thick, muscular torso, being speared open by the older man’s huge cock as he whispered filthy words into his ear, interspaced by the occasional “good boy”.

 

Connor blinked a few times to bring himself back to reality.  “What did you break this time?” he joked a little too robotically.

 

“My monitors are busted again,” Hank sighed as he hung his head.

 

Connor chuckled; the stomach butterflies had returned from their migration. “Did you unplug your docking station and plug it back in?”

 

“I didn’t want to screw around with anything back there, you know it’s a mess.”

 

Connor wanted to argue that it was literally one cable - until he realized the situation was a rare opportunity to be alone with Hank. Connor could gently steer the conversation to Hank’s impending divorce, be a source of stability in these trying times, maybe offer some physical comfort - a hug, perhaps.

 

 _Calm the hell down_ , Connor scolded internally. “Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

Being a System Administrator for the Detroit Police Department shouldn’t have brought about as much ire as Gavin Reed seemed to have for Connor, and yet, the detective shouldered him hard enough to stop him in his tracks and knock his thick-framed glasses askew.

 

Gavin, the sniveling coward, power-walked down the pristine, white-walled hallway of the precinct just as Hank barked out a gruff, “Hey!”

 

“It’s alright, Lieutenant,” Connor said as he adjusted his glasses back onto his nose.

 

Hank pivoted towards Connor. Red-faced, brows knit together, and lips tight, Hank growled, “No it’s not. If he touches you one more time, you come straight to me, got it?”

  
Connor melted into his _Vans_ shoes. “Yes, sir,” he replied with what was sure a large, toothy grin. 

* * *

The HDMI port on the back of Hank’s docking station appeared broken, as if someone had attempted to stick a foreign object into the slot - forcefully.

 

Almost like someone purposely damaged the device in order to find an excuse to ask Connor into Hank’s office.

 

Connor suppressed a smirk by biting his bottom lip; so, it would seem Hank _did_ share his affections, after all. Connor couldn’t imagine Hank going through such great lengths to get him alone for any other reason.

 

 _It only took two years_.

 

Connor unplugged the rest of the cables from the small, black box. “It looks like the docking station is actually busted. I’ll have to replace it,” he called out from underneath Hank’s desk. Connor used his knees to climb out from the jumble of wires and cables. Once his head was clear of hitting metal or wood, he stood. “There should be a few new ones in the base-”

 

Connor’s words were vacuumed right out of his mouth the moment he pivoted on his heel and caught sight of the tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man standing just a foot away from him. The frustrated groan bubbling up from his lungs was stopped only by Connor’s half-hearted, “Oh, hey Cole.”

 

“Hi, Connor,” Cole greeted back warmly. “Looks like my dad fucked something else up, huh?”

 

“Looks like,” Connor replied, lifting the docking station for emphasis, (though he chastised himself for the strange gesture.)

 

The glass door into the small office opened with an airy hiss. Hank stepped through the threshold, two cups of coffee in hand. (When had he left? Was Connor really that lost in thought?)

 

“Ah, now both of my favorite nerds are here,” Hank announced with some cheer.

 

“Hey dad!”

 

Connor smiled, a wordless reply.

 

Hank made strides over to Connor and handed him one of the full disposable cardboard cups. Connor opened the plastic top. The smell was delightful; Hank remembered to add his favorite vanilla creamer, adding some sweetness to the strong scent. Connor’s heart drummed that much harder against his chest.

 

“What’re you doing here, Sport?” Hank asked as he leaned against the edge of his desk. Connor moved to face him.

 

“I had an interview for that internship in the IT department.”

 

_Oh no._

 

Connor had enough trouble getting Hank alone as it was. If Cole joined the precinct for the summer, he would inevitably monopolize the few precious moments he could have had with Hank. _I guess it’s bye-bye until September._

 

Connor scolded himself. Of course Hank would want to spend time with his son! What a terrible thought!

 

 _Ugh_ , he just couldn’t help it. This crush, infatuation, whatever, was really getting out of hand. _Maybe I just need to get laid._

 

“Alright, see ya around!” Cole called out before shooting out the door with the speed of a bullet. It closed behind him with an audible _thunk_.

 

Wait! When had he -? Did Connor really space out that badly a second time, or did the Anderson’s have a supernatural ability to teleport?

 

“So how about it?” Hank asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“Excuse me, what?” Connor replied automatically, bemused.

 

“Put a good word in for my boy to your boss?”

 

“Oh, yeah sure,” Connor replied. “I don’t think he’ll need it, though.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

_Because he’s the lieutenant’s son._

 

 _“_ Because, for one, he’s a genius. I don’t know how anyone can manage a GPA like his in the computer science track. I barely made out with a 3.2 in the IT track. Plus, he’s a nice kid, good attitude. He’ll fit in great.”

 

Hank paused. He nodded a few times. Then, continued, “Hey, why don’t you come over to my place for dinner tonight?”

 

Connor’s heart nearly gave out with how rapidly it beat. His lungs burned for more oxygen than he could give.  

 

“Cole will be there. Be a chance for you two to hang out a bit.”

 

Connor’s entire being deflated like a popped balloon, and the internal screaming inside his head was loud enough to nearly blow out his ears.

 

“I - uh,” Connor started with a slight stutter.

 

Hank chuckled to himself, probably in response to a private internal joke. “It’s alright. Cole likes you, too. And, I’m glad. After his last boyfriend, he needs a nice young man like you.”

 

Connor’s heart hardened to stone and shattered inside his chest, the shards of which lodged themselves inside his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Humiliation burned his cheeks, neck and chest. Connor couldn’t believe that his crush was attempting to set him up with _his son._

 

Connor had to stop this before it went too far. A familiar anxiety twisted his stomach; how could he delicately turn down Cole without insulting Hank in the process? Connor wasn’t exactly the best in _normal_ social situations, and this was certainly a minefield he didn’t think anyone had ever navigated before.

 

The younger man looked down at his twisting hands. Small, delicate, _feminine_ , and shamefully, the biggest trigger of his dysphoria. Most men _like him_ had issues with their chests and genitals, but Connor had come to terms with those aspects of himself. His hands, however -  a sudden spark of inspiration struck Connor.

 

“Lieutenant, I  - uh, well, I’m not sure I have the _equipment_ he’s into,” Connor whispered.

 

“Oh, that’s not a problem for him,” Hank replied. “I told him. He knows. He’s a lot like his old man in that way.”

 

Something like despair struck Connor in the sternum and pulled at his rib cage. He was trapped in a skid, and he had no option but to steer into it.  “I see, I - yeah, sure, I’ll come to dinner.”

* * *

Connor was not in the mood to welcome Gavin, so when he saw the detective just lounging atop his workstation, ass way too close to his treasured knick-knacks, he had to ground himself. Only willpower stood between him and pummeling Gavin into the ground.

 

“Hey, it’s robocop,” Gavin welcomed with a knowing smirk.

 

Connor froze just as he approached Gavin. There was no way -

 

From behind his hip, Gavin produced several sheets of paper, marred by pressure creases and printed words. “Or should I say ‘plastic prick’? I like that, actually. Kind of describes you _in more than one way_.”

 

Connor leapt towards Gavin’s page-filled hand. The detective was quicker on the draw; he kept a strong palm on Connor’s clavicle, blocking him from snatching his story back.

 

“How did you even get that?” the younger man snarled.

 

Gavin laughed. The sound was vicious, full of diabolical intent. “I was curious last night. I searched your DPD username. I thought you IT guys knew better than to recycle those. You don’t know who might be looking into your hobbies.”

 

 _Oh._ That’s a relief. For a moment, Connor assumed the worst. Had he forgotten to lock his computer before stepping away, Gavin would have had access to his more lurid stories. Those he never posted. Those belonged to Connor, and Connor alone. As it was, Gavin didn’t have much in the way of incriminating evidence against him.

 

Connor took a step back. Vaguely impressed, he raised his brows, lowered his mouth, and nodded. “That’s actually really clever,” he muttered. _For a neanderthal._

 

Gavin simply raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“That’s a technique hackers use,” Connor explained further, just on the other side of condescending. “It’s called social engineering,”.

 

“I really don’t care,” Gavin replied, voice low. “But, I bet Anderson is going to care that you killed his son off so you can have some sort of buddy-cop-romance shit going on with him. Plus, my lawyer is going to have a field day suing you for slander.”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson already knows I write as a hobby,” Connor answered cooly. “And slander pertains to making false accusations. Since my story takes place in a fantasy world, it’s going to be hard to prove that I misrepresented your character for profit. The worst you could do is sue me for using your likeness without permission, but since I don’t make money off of my stories, there won’t be much to gain from that.”

 

Gavin pursed his lips, his eyebrows knit together, and red quickly stained the skin of his cheeks. Connor became concerned that his sense of duty wouldn’t be enough to stop him from committing assault. Fortunately, he merely growled, “Who the fuck talks like you?

 

Connor cocked his head. A cruel idea formed. It didn’t take much effort to become as emotionally unavailable as the androids he wrote about in his story. “Detective,” he started, monotone. “I thought it would be obvious that _I_ talk like I do.”

 

Gavin slid off Connor’s desk and brushed passed him, muttering, “Fucking weirdo.”

 

Another flash of inspiration struck him. Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, especially one that could potentially end this two-year long feud between them, Connor called out, as he turned on his heel, “You know, I thought you’d be happy with the way I wrote you. You’ve got a ton of fangirls.”

 

Gavin stopped. After a brief second, he mirrored Connor. “Yeah?”

 

Connor nodded.

 

“Any of them hot?”

 

“Probably,” Connor replied with a shrug. “You’re the misunderstood bad boy. Chicks dig that. Or, so I’m told.”

 

Gavin nodded privately to himself. “Well, if you find a hottie, let her know I’m single.”

 

“Will do,” Connor snorted. He turned his desk chair by the armrest and sat down with a small plop. His hand automatically hovered over his mouse, but the action was interrupted by Gavin coughing. Connor turned his shoulder to peer up at the shuffling man.

 

“And - uh - for the record, I don’t actually hate you or anything,” Gavin choked out. “I was just pissed that you went to HR without talking to me first. I know I made a joke, but I’m not some phobic jerk or anything.”

 

“HR?” Connor wondered aloud. For as long as he had been employed with the DPD, he had never sought out human resources. “I never went to HR. I didn’t even know they were in the building.”

 

“Don’t fucking lie, man,” Gavin said with a small huff. He folded his arms across his chest. His foot tapped insistently.

 

“I’m being honest, dude,” Connor insisted while raising his hands in an open gesture. “Do you think if I reported you for a joke, that I wouldn’t have reported you for messing with me?”

 

Gavin paused. For several seconds, he nawed on his lower lip. Afterwards, he said, softly, “I guess I owe you an apology.”

 

 _Atta boy, Gavin._ If there was one trait Connor shared with his written counterpart, it was their ability to manipulate a situation. He tried not to let the victory show on his face. Sincere, he needed to remain sincere for the continued success of his “mission”.

 

“No worries, man,” Connor said with a small wave. “We’re cool.”

 

Without another word, Gavin left.

 

Great, one problem solved, but another presented in its place: who talked to HR on his behalf?

* * *

Connor rushed up the long walkway to Hank’s front door, as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. His earlier plan, to arrive just on time (in an effort to avoid overthinking his way out of dinner), worked a little too well. After running one-too-many dungeons in his online game, he barely made it out of his apartment with enough time to spare. He knocked on the door at seven, on-the-dot.

 

Hank opened the door after a heartbeat. _Oh_ , Connor grew weak at the sight of him wearing a dark, form-fitting, long-sleeved dress shirt, tucked into a set of blue jeans that did little to conceal his wonderfully-crafted hide.

 

 _Fuck_ , Connor could imagine sinking his fingers into the meat of that ass to pull him in closer, aiding the older man’s thrusts into his cunt.

 

“Hey, welcome,” Hank offered, stepping to one side to allow Connor within his cozy home.

 

Connor, still trapped within the clutches of his fantasy, could only nod in response. Fully on autopilot, he stepped inside.

 

Unlike the house in Connor’s story, Hank’s house, in reality, was rather clean, organized, and decorated tastefully. It had the touch of someone who cared for the place. Though Connor had only been invited over a handful of times, it felt like home.

 

Hank led Connor to the small, round dining room table within the confines of the kitchen, where two placemats, plates and wine glasses were arranged. Connor felt ice form in his veins; was this some sort of weird date Hank arranged for him and Cole?

 

Connor had been under the impression that, at the very least, there would have been some sort of familial gathering, with the added intention of slowly introducing the two to the concept of dating one another. He didn’t realize Hank had gone fullsteam ahead on his plan to set them up.

 

“Cole won’t be joining us,” Hank explained hurriedly, much to Connor’s immediate relief. “He’s not feeling so great. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“No,” Connor replied with a grin. “Of course not.”

* * *

 

Connor was sure it started with the extra glass of wine after dinner.

 

They had sat upon the couch, watching a pre-recording of the Detroit Tigers getting absolutely destroyed by the Houston Astros. In between their shouting at the television, their conversation bubbled into bouts of uncontrollable laughter. As the innings streamed by, the two men inched closer and closer to each other, until Connor’s cheek met the meat of Hank’s hard chest, the older man’s arm slung around his shoulder. For a beautiful portion of the evening, they had cuddled in the way longterm lovers did, with a sense of comfort and certainty, and the very notion sent Connor’s poor soul soaring.

 

How _that_ turned into _this_ , Hank’s head between his naked thighs, Connor didn’t have the brain power to figure out.

 

Maybe it was Hank’s awkward confession, in which he admitted he hadn’t actually invited Cole to dinner. Or, maybe it was the way Hank’s half-lidded, cerulean eyes bolstered Connor to lean up and take his mouth into a gentle, chaste kiss. Or, maybe it was Hank deepening the affection with a passion that sent a rush of liquid lust down Connor’s spine. No matter the cause, somehow, they had stumbled their way into Hank’s bedroom, but not before kissing, and groping, and grinding like teenagers against nearly all of the hard surfaces between Hank’s couch and his bed.

 

The tension that had drowned them both for years left the two little room to rest, relax, step back and think logically of the potential ramifications of what they intended to do. Instinct had driven them to swim up, break through the water and _breathe_ ; they had stripped themselves of their clothing, and Hank went to work.

 

The first swipe of Hank’s tongue on Connor’s throbbing clit had the younger man groaning and arching his back. It shouldn’t have felt so pleasurable. Yet, he was lost in the salacious awareness that he was finally beneath Hank, the very man of his dreams, desires and fantasies.

 

Hank dug both hands beneath Connor’s ass cheeks to pull him up further into his mouth. Connor yelped at the sudden and intense sensation, though he soon succumbed, melting into Hank’s ministrations with a small sob. That man was far too earnest in his exploration; he groaned over Connor’s pussy, as if he were consuming ambrosia. Hank took his time drinking in his clit, his wet folds, the outer chamber of his entrance.

 

“You taste so fucking good,” Hank murmured. The intensity of his words melted Connor’s core further. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

 

Connor’s heart tried to escape its cage, hammering wildly against his ribs. His belly twisted in the most amazingly way. “Me too,” Connor sighed out, overwhelmed . “ _God_ , me too.”

 

Hank slid one hand away from Connor’s supple hide in order to bring a finger up to his pulsing hole. “Can I?” he asked, voice low and full of dark promise.

 

Connor swallowed and nodded.

 

Ever the gentleman, Hank haltingly slipped his thick finger into Connor’s wet, tight, heat, slowly easing the boy into the incredible feeling. The appendage wasn’t nearly as big as a cock, by any stretch of the imagination, but to Connor, having Hank inside of him in any capacity was just as good. A punched-out groan escaped the younger man.

 

Hank dove back in, devouring Connor’s sensitive nub, stimulating the small bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Meanwhile, Hank’s fingertip sought and found that one elusive spot inside of Connor, crooking over it expertly. Sadly, in all of Connor’s twenty-eight years, no one else had managed to do that before, so the dual titillation shocked him. Connor cried out as every muscle in his body tensed and straightened.

 

Hank pulled his mouth away, only to add his index finger into Connor. Slotted in place, his palm settled over Connor’s cunt, allowing Hank to not only thrust his fingers with more and more (and more, and more, and _moremoremore_ ) ferocity, but also apply pressure exactly where Connor wanted it the most.

 

Connor was beyond caring that Hank was orchestrating such  shamefully erotic sopping noises from his pussy. It added to the hedonistic symphony of skin meeting skin and Connor’s desperate keening.

 

Though, he did care that he suddenly felt a need to relieve himself, and just as he was so close to what promised to be an intense climax. _Fuck_. “H-Hank, wait,” Connor started, but Hank interrupted him with a knowing smirk.

 

Hank, out of courtesy for his new lover’s wishes, did slow his work on Connor, but he promised hoarsely, “It’s not what you think. Just let go.” He then placed a kiss on Connor’s inner thigh.

 

Connor trusted Hank with every breath he took, and so, he nodded, if a bit cautiously. He tossed his head back, closed his eyes, and allowed Hank to resume at his previous pace. Again, he felt the ache within his lower belly intensify. His toes curled. The sheets beneath him shifted with his writhing, his hands grasping at the linens.

 

Connor did as he was commanded and let go with a gasp. He was vaguely aware of the wetness that soaked his thighs and the bed beneath him, but he was far more focused on the white light burning  him from the inside out.

 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Hank groaned.

 

Connor opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to watch the older man kneel between his legs. He fisted himself, stroking over his large shaft with an eager swiftness. His motions were measured, calculated, precise, betraying Hank as a man who knew what he liked. The idea was oddly _hot_.

 

“Connor,” Hank rasped. “Tell me where to come.”

 

Connor’s clit twitched with renewed interest. “On my stomach, please,” he panted; he had to see it.

 

Hank came with a growl. His seed splashed against Connor’s taut belly. “Oh, fuck.”

 

 _Oh, fuck, indeed_ , Connor thought, bubbly and high, grin plastered on his visage. “I’d never -” he giggled breathlessly. “I’d never come like that before.”

 

“That’s why you need someone with experience,” Hank replied. “Shower?”

 

“Yes, please.”

* * *

 

 

Later, in the darkness of Hank’s bedroom, tucked beneath fresh sheets, he held Connor as if he would disappear should his embrace slacken. Connor traced patterns over Hank’s broad chest, admiring how time had softened the edges of it without dulling its incredible strength.   

 

“You know,” Hank started, quiet. “I’m too old for one-night stands.”

 

Connor peered up to meet Hank’s intense, searching gaze. He smiled.

 

“That's good,” Connor replied. “Because I only sleep with people I intend on dating.”

 

Hank’s lips stretched into an easy smile. “Guess we’ll have to tell HR then.”

 

 _HR_? A small alarm of recognition sounded in the back of Connor’s mind, but it was silenced by Hank’s deep kiss goodnight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please validate my existence with kudos and comments. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter and Tumblr @faequill


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